


The Basilisk

by V_Haley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Bestiality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_Haley/pseuds/V_Haley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos stumbles into the Chamber of Secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Basilisk

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: non-con, bestiality

The world is blood-black, but vividly scented to life with draughts that slip into the tunnels through cracks the King can no longer slide through, scale to stone to freedom.  He was free, once, in the before-time, light-time when there was no hunger.  He lives on rats and the small creatures; he would be dead but for his nature: death never comes except at the hands of a killer.

The hunger has driven him mad, become his world with the blindness and the torment of prey one step beyond the stone bars of his once-home.  There is nothing to eat, nothing to see, and no one who speaks but the two who came before.

That was long ago, in the killing time, when men lived who could yet speak his tongue.

At the edge of his madness, a man lays down his scent, heavy with sweat and exhaustion.  It is tinged with blood where he has scraped past the rocks.  His breath stirs the wind raggedly.  He must be desperate indeed to consider _him_ the lesser risk.

His scales scrape softly towards the intruder, who stills.  There is the tang of metal on his tongue as he closes, and the man raises the light in his hand towards the King, alerted.  The King recognizes the threat of gleaming, bloodied metal in his other hand, drawn already towards him, but it is far too late.

He saw the King when the light touched him, and now the man lies stretched out, dead, as all men die.  The hunger drives him forward, and his tongue slips out and up the trouser of the man's pants to taste him.  He is salty and human; the King savors him.

So he notices when the man starts to breath again, as men all men do not; as no man ever has in the time and again he knew the world and killed for his lord.  Certainly no one ever has in this quiet time of the tunnels.  He killed the man, and he rose again.

The man pretends to be dead still, his life coming shallow in the eternal in-out, in-out of mortal and immortal life, but his body betrays him.  It is the pressure, the slickness, the back-forth, back-forth of the hungry tongue massaging against him.  He stiffens in life as he never did in death.

In the still-sentient, still-sane corner of the King's mind rise the specters of amusement and curiosity: amusement at the fool mortal not-mortal's predicament, and curiosity as to how he returned himself from death.  Hunger will return no matter when he eats the man, but the boredom-loneliness of his now-life can be held off for a time yet.

The King paces his tongue nimbly, enjoying the wary fear-scent and the unconscious arousal.  He pretends not to notice fingers that stretch for a sword fingertips out of reach.  Quicker even than warrior's instincts, the King's tongue retreats to his mouth and the fangs flash forward.

He penetrates deep into the groin with his fang and ejects into him, hearing the man cry out inadvertently, curling around him, pressing hands against him.  The King pulls out, venom spent, and curls back to wait.

The venom is fast; breathing slows.  In a last jerk of movement, the man's fist closes around his sword as he dies.  The King wonders whether this death, too, will be a minor death -- un petite morte for death's bastard son.  He wonders whether the man will manage to rise again, or if he has exhausted himself in the one effort.  He wonders, and it has been long indeed since he has had capacity or reason to do so.

A basilisk's venom is among the most potent, but it is not permanent for a man who cannot die unless killed with steel and lightning's kiss.  Again, the tongue slid against his leg, pressing and searching the familiar flesh for the fang's wound--finding nothing except a touch of acridity on the skin, a residual response driven into the flesh to move under-away from his probing caress.

In his defense, it has been a long, lost time since the King has killed a man.  He has forgotten the sword and the hand--forgotten that killers did not stay still and wait to die.  The movement is quick--quicker, even, than a serpent's instincts, dulled by size and surprise.  The sword slides into him, twisting and moving in the expert grip to sever the tongue it has impaled.

The King recoils, pulling the maimed organ back into his mouth.  The man is already moving back, away, through the passage that had allowed him escape once.  It is too late to stop the man's heart with a look, even if he has not already extinguished the light, and it will do no good anyway with no tongue to retrieve the body.

The man forces his way through the tight hole, slick with sweat, blood, and fear.  The King presses the blunt tip of his head against the unyielding surface, driven to follow.  He is bloated on his own blood trickling down his throat, salty and warm, and he clamps his jaw on the stump of his tongue to slow the loss.

His world is pain, and once more he knows loneliness, but he does not quite regret that this one got away.  He doesn't know what such a resilient meal would have done to him, and he is probably fortunate he will not find out.  He regrets the loss of his tongue, and the blood that pools beneath him.  He does not think the wound will kill him, but he will not track right for a very long time.  Perhaps never again.  But then, basilisks live a very long time.  Perhaps it would grow back, in the coming-time, in the time when there would be no more hunger and no more darkness.  In the time when he would meet the not-dying man again. [  
](http://www.geocities.com/lunalarea)

**Author's Note:**

> Way back, someone made a reference to a Methos/Basilisk slash. I was curious, but apparently the initial reference was a joke. I wrote my own to see if it could be done.


End file.
